domenica 30 ottobre 2011

Morning thoughts

I'm so thoughtful that I drain my psychic energies so quickly that sometimes I seem to drop braindead. I'm not a genius either, I'm very proud of my above-average intelligence, but true geniuses are way different (my brother could be, if he only wanted). I have such a huge shitload of defects that if I had to write down a list on paper, there would be no trees left way before being half-way done.
But I believe there is one thing I can do very well: I can help others. I take pride in it, I'm glad when I do it, it stimulates me to fix what has gone haywire in someone's head. I like to change the fuse when it has burnt, I like to see people gettng better because I helped them to help themselves. I like to give them the rod and teach them how to fish, instead than giving them a fish.
I don't know if it's a sort of inferiority complex which leads me to think that I can only adjust or "reprogram" or whatever, but not build. Maybe. One day maybe I'll build. Or maybe I'm doing it already, I don't know and now I have no way to figure it out. But I am helping someone. And I am sure I'm freakin' good at it.
I will be an artist. A mind-artist of the mind. I'll do whatever I can to become an architect of neural pathways. I'll become someone whom people will be inspired from, someone who'll help othersfeel better in an artistic way.
I'll try to become the artisan of the mind.

giovedì 27 ottobre 2011

Lost Dog

You drained the ocean of my love
one bucket at a time
believing in its infinity,
not realizing
how shallow it's become

One bucket at a time.

You dried my fertile fields
one bite at a time,
sipping my water,
eating from my tree,
leaving nothing but a wasteland

One bite at a time.

What's left of myself now?
Where has all my deep love gone?
Left alone I was,
howling dog, lost in the fog.

You made me lose myself,
gave me the final blow,
left me hurt and scared,
and with a heart of stone.

domenica 23 ottobre 2011

RIP, biker.

La moto... le ali dell'uomo... volare, il vento addosso, la sensazione di essere piccoli dèi... Quel casco e quella tuta che ci fanno sentire protetti come un cavaliere contro bastoncini di legno, mentre sprezzanti ognio tanto buttiamo l'occhio sull'indistinguibile grigiore dell'asfalto... E via, con la libertà dentro, quella libertà che solo la Moto ci sa dare, verso la cima di quella montagna all'orizzonte, e più in alto ancora poi.
Ma ogni tanto alla Moto bisogna pagar pegno. Ogni tanto lei ci dice che è arrivato il momento di tornare a terra, e più in alto sei, più ti fai male quando cadi. Tu sei caduto da MOLTO in alto, Marco, e qualcosa mi dice che è quel che volevi, o quantomeno che il rischio era stato accettato: perchè OGNI motociclista, quando si incrocia e si saluta, sa che potebbe essere l'ultimo saluto. Per ciascuno dei due.
Ebbene, questo forse, FORSE era il momento di Marco. Ma una cosa mi lascia un dubbio atroce, un piccolo fatto su cui potrei anche sbagliarmi: PERCHE' GLI SI E' SFILATO IL CAZZO DI CASCO?!?

giovedì 20 ottobre 2011

Democrexport.

Gheddafi isn't simply "dead": he was BARBARICALLY MURDERED, and the same historical error was repeated AGAIN: killing someone who, even though he committed horrible crimes, was NOT deprived of his human rights, SIMPLY BECAUSE NO ONE CAN DENY YOU HUMAN RIGHTS. Theoretically: I guess republicans in the USA might disagree with this last statement of mine.
He had ben promised a fair trial (I can imagine...), after the world brought undue and not justified by ANY
international law to the rebels.
I would like to point out once again that those states who went to fight in Libia are the same ones who didn't (sorry for my "french") GIVE A FUCK about the other rioting arab states. Of course, those other states didn't have oil. I wonder what Sirians would have to say about this: shall we ask them, poor people massacred by their "government" every single day?

Gheddafi was MURDERED! Just as Saddam, also guilty of possessing the thing that the USA value most: oil.

Uncle Sam, France, Berlusconi... GO TO....

domenica 16 ottobre 2011

Western Haiku

I know I love you because
when I imagine myself on my final day
It's your hand I dream to hold.